I Didn't Exactly Ask
by whocouldsay
Summary: This was a Tumblr prompt. Charles receiving advice on how to win Mary's heart from a variety of sources—even though he didn't ask for it. Bonus if one of those advising him is George. ;)


_**Prompt **__ Charles receiving advice on how to win Mary's heart from a variety of sources—even though he didn't ask for it. Bonus if one of those advising him is George. ;)_

"_**I Didn't Exactly Ask"**_

**Chapter 1**

In his very cosmopolitan flat in Warsaw, Poland, Charles Blake bustled around in a hurry. He was due to leave. Finally. It had been seven months of unfamiliarity and frustration, but he had to admit, substantial progress was being made. That had been worth it. But he was ready to return home. He missed many things about home…

Charles noticed that two letters had been delivered earlier that morning. How did he miss that? Must have been busy wrapping all this trade delegation business up, he thought. Two letters: one from cousin Severus, and one from …Mary. His heart started racing. Better read that one last, he thought, his nerves getting the better of him.

Cousin Severus' letter was of the same usual sort it was always about – weather, his constant knee pain, the Campbell's farm. Charles had to admit, he did find one piece of information interesting – Severus had taken it into his head last year to buy a distillery. He was always trying to acquire side businesses whenever they took his fancy. But this particular distillery was of interest to Charles because the scotch it produced carried with it a rather intriguing memory.

FLASHBACK: {before the "Sex or Love" talk}

Tom, Rose and he were in the library while the others had either left or gone to bed. Mary was in the hall saying goodnight to her grandmother before joining them. Charles pours Tom a drink and they chat about the progress of the estate. Just then, they are interrupted by Rose.

Rose, who had been peaking behind the door as if trying to see if Mary was on her way into the library, had bounded up to the two of them. "What exactly is going on with you and Mary?" She blurted out. Charles was caught a bit off guard. Tom interrupts Charles' silence with a soft, almost embarrassed laugh and admits that he too had been curious.

"Well she seems pretty set on Tony, so …" he trailed off, looking into his nearly empty glass.

"You don't honestly believe that do you? I'm not at all sure what she sees in him to be honest," Rose stated rather bluntly.

Tom, always the translator, jumped in and said, "What I think Rose means, is that, well, he can be a bit of a bore."

"Well that may be," Charles replied with a chuckle, "But Mary and I don't always see eye to eye, and that's probably putting it mildly."

"But Mary would plow right over him, and where's the fun in that?" Rose retorted. Just then, Mary called out from the hall, "Rose, Granny's leaving." Rose got up and left the room to say her goodbyes, leaving Tom and Charles in the library.

"I'm sorry if Rose caught you off guard, but we both just want what's best for Mary."

"Well that makes three of us then," Charles replied.

"You know, Mary needs a fighter. I don't mean that she needs someone to continually oppose her. To challenge her, yes. But she also needs someone who is willing to fight her corner. To fight _with _her. You two share similar goals and would be a formidable team," Tom paused to take a drink. "Just don't let her go without a fight."

Charles took in Tom's words and smiled as Tom filled Charles' glass just as Mary and Rose came into the room.

Charles looked into his glass and said, "I didn't exactly ask for another scotch."

"I know. But I figured you could use it," Tom said with a smile.

Charles laughed and took a swig from his glass.

Charles smiled at the memory as he nervously reached for Mary's letter, hands almost trembling. Over the past seven months he had come to rely upon Mary's letters. They started out tame enough – how is Poland, what trouble have you gotten into so far, Downton got another shipment of pigs, George said the funniest thing the other day. But recently, the letters had gotten more intimate, like the kind you would write to someone you completely and utterly trusted, missed, and felt a connection with. Each time he received a letter from her, he allowed his himself to hope, if only ever so slightly.

He tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. "Dear Charles."

Before he got any further into the letter, the driver arrived at his front door to take him to the train station. He was going home.

**Chapter 2**

The train was just pulling out of the station as Charles watched out the window. The city he had gotten to know over the past few months was fading to the background. He leaned back in his seat, all alone in his cabin, to read Mary's letter.

"Dear Charles,"

"Blake, old chap! Home to London finally? I've only been here two weeks and I'm missing home terribly. It will be a relief to get back to my familiar office, my familiar town." Charles was interrupted, yet again, this time by a man he worked with, only briefly while in Warsaw.

The man sat down opposite Charles and continued to prattle on about how he missed the London weather, didn't understand the language in Poland; about the gambling debts he'd accumulated in his short stay in Poland. Charles couldn't get a word in edge-wise. This would be a long trip. Maybe if he thinks I'm sleeping, he'll stop talking, Charles thought.

**Chapter 3**

Charles stepped off the train onto the platform. He hadn't told anyone he was returning, it would be a surprise of sorts. But he didn't seem to mind that no one was there to meet him. He could take his time, and settle back in to London life before having to face the anticipated ream of questions. Charles collected his bags and sat on a bench near the entrance to the train station, just to people watch and let it sink in that he was finally home. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Mary's letter, finally having a moment to read it.

"Dear Charles,"

"Charles Blake, you scoundrel!"

Charles snapped his head back to see Mabel Lane Fox shouting at him from her car. Charles got up, shoved Mary's letter into his book, and walked to her car. After a few minutes of "welcome home" conversation, she offered to drive Charles to his townhouse, which he accepted.

"So, you're back then. And how was it? Did you save the world?" Mabel asked sarcastically.

"I'm afraid that information is classified, and you certainly do not have the requisite clearance." Charles responded with a cheeky smirk.

"Still an arrogant ass. Some things never change." And she was glad they never would.

A few moments later, Mabel interrupted Charles' silence and asked, "How's the Mary front going? I'm surprised you could stay away this long!"

Charles replied, "Mable, that is … I don't know," he said frustratedly as he fidgeted with his hat. "I don't think she's exactly interested."

"But you are. That's obvious enough. And are you actually asking me to believe that Mary Crawly feels nothing for you?"

"Well, I -"

"Charles, open your eyes," Mabel interrupted, "You know you'd compliment each other well – both strong-headed and driven, but for different things. She's lighted a spark in you, that's for sure."

Charles was surprised by this. "Why are you pushing this? I thought you were anti-Mary."

Mabel did not miss a beat. "I am not ant-Mary. I _was _anti-Mary. Completely different. But you know, for all her arrogance, she's got a style one can't help but admire. And I know _you_ admire it. Face it Charles, you're in love with her."

"And what am I supposed to do about that?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Charles, go and tell her so. You used to tell me that you and she were always honest and direct with each other. So go and be direct."

Now he was intrigued. "How do you know it will work?"

"Because in all the time that we three schemed against – well, you two against, and I for – Tony, I watched you two together. Partners in crime, I'd call you. You were entirely obvious of course, and I expected that, but Mary. That was a different story. I thought she would be more aloof, more concealing of her feelings. But when you were in the room, there was nothing to keep her eyes, and her smile, from you."

Just as Mabel finished her lecture, they arrived at Charles' house. Mabel parked her car and turned to face Charles. Charles was already giving her a disapproving look. "Don't give me that look Charles Blake. Get out of my car and pack your bags for Downton."

Charles, miffed, got out of the car and turned to lean back in. "You know, I didn't exactly ask for your 'friendly advice' Mabel," he stoutly informed her.

She smiled as she shifted the car out of park, "No. But you'll take it all the same," she retorted as she drove off.

**Chapter 4**

Lady Rosamund Painswick stood on the street corner, full of surprise at what she had just witnessed. Was that Charles Blake? I thought he was abroad? Was he just making advances toward Miss Lane Fox? What would Mary say?

That evening a very disgruntled Lady Rosamund Painswick showed up at the door of Charles Blake.

"I see you're back from the Continent," she exclaimed, "and that you arrived safely home from the station, thanks to Miss Lane Fox." Rosamund pushed through the door and into the sitting room.

"Um, yes, it was kind of her to give me a lift," he said as he, confused though he was, closed the door and followed her through.

"She seems a very … keen… friend"

"We've known each other quite well for years," Charles responded.

"And just how well do you know each other, Mr. Blake?"

"If there is an accusation you're trying to make Lady Painswick, I wish you would come out with it," Charles snapped back.

Rosamund waxed at length about how Mary had trusted him. How she laughed with him. And ultimately, how she missed him. Not that Mary had said that last bit directly to her, mind him, but Rosamund could tell.

And what cheek he had to be off flirting with another woman – and an engaged one at that! Rosamund was beside herself, as would Mary be, she said.

Charles had had enough of Rosamund's allegations and he promptly told her so. She had completely misinterpreted the situation. Mabel was a family friend – they'd known each other for ages. And if she must know, Mabel had been attached to Charles' younger brother Lawrence when they were young. But Lawrence, demon that he is, broke Mabel's heart, and Charles had sided with Mabel in the split.

A friend, nothing more, offering a lift home from the station. His return to London had been somewhat impromptu and he had not yet had the opportunity to call or write to Mary about his return.

They both remained silent. Rosamund reflected on the newly portrayed version of what she had witnessed, and seemed satisfied with his explanations. Charles reflected on the level of Rosamund's anger and her telling description of Mary's feelings. They seemed to silently understand each other, yet neither spoke. Charles was unsure whether the battle was actually over when Rosamund shifted in her seat as she reached for her handbag.

"You know, I'm so pleased the weather promises to be delightful over the next week. It will make the landowners' conference Mary's hosting at Downton that much more of a success. Mary will be in her element, she's worked so hard. Do you know how much effort she has put in to learning these new farming techniques, crop rotation, and maintaining the health of the estate? And to think, she's working on a landowners' cooperative to help the surrounding estates in the area to survive as well. The culminating dinner party will be the crowning jewel!"

Charles sat taking all of the information in, impressed, yet confused by Rosamund's statements. Where was she going with all of this, he thought.

Rosamund barely took a breath before continuing, "I know Mary will do splendidly – she puts her whole heart into these efforts at Downton. Mind you, she had her doubts at first, about running and organizing this conference – it was new and challenging territory for her, but it certainly excited and intrigued her. I know if she was separated from it for any substantial length of time she would miss it. But you know Mary, once she's made up her mind – and made it up she has – she commits her whole person to it. I've not seen her so passionate about anything in quite some time."

Was she still taking about Mary's conference, he wondered… But before he could make up his mind on the matter, Rosamund rose to leave.

As she walked toward the door Rosamund said, "I'm so glad we had the opportunity to discuss the estate and conference, I'm sure Mary would be pleased that you continue to take an interest."

Just as she reached the door Rosamund turned to face Charles and said, "I do hope the conference will be _well attended_. Those who do will surely benefit from the experience."

Charles began to have a déjà vu feeling, that he's been offered advice before. "Lady Painswick, I didn't exactly ask about the conference you know."

"Yes, but you see, I know how interested you were in Downton when we last met. Your interest has not gone unnoticed and I hope to see it continue." And with that Rosamund was gone and Charles was left pondering.

**Chapter 5**

The next morning, Charles was on once again on a train. This leg of his journey felt particularly long. He was fidgeting with his hat while staring out the window, feeling listless. Frustrated with himself for being so nervous, he tossed his hat aside and picked up the book he brought for the journey. But just as he picked up the book, a letter fell out and onto the seat beside him.

Charles paused for a moment and smiled as he saw her handwriting peak from beneath the folded pages. He picked up the letter and unfolded it once more. "Dear Charles,"

And just as before, he was interrupted. This time by a train whistle and puffs of white smoke that signified to Charles that they had arrived at the station. This must be some trick of fate, he thought to himself.

Charles sighed and stuffed the letter into his coat pocket and exited the train car.

Charles sent his bags on to Downton and decided to walk. He needed to calm his nerves. Why am I even nervous, he questioned of himself. Can't I just visit a friend? A friend… whose letters had grown continually more than friend-like over the past seven months. Friends indeed. Was that just in his mind? Well he was here now, and had better find out.

**Chapter 6**

Andy, the newest hall boy met the approaching car when it arrived at Downton. There was no passenger, only a few cases that were unaccompanied. Andy was unsure what to make of that. He noticed the tag on bags signaled to him that they belonged to a "Mr. Charles Blake," whoever he was. With the amount of people who were at Downton lately, it was hard to keep up. But this was unusual in that he was not aware that they were expecting any more guests for the conference.

Not entirely sure of himself just yet, and confused by the situation, Andy decided to ask Mr. Carson what the best course of action would be. Mr. Carson, who had been in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Hughes when they were interrupted, was surprised by the unattended, unforeseen arrival. The three of them went to inspect the bags, but it was Mrs. Hughes who spoke first.

"Well, well, Mr. Blake, back from Poland," She smirked at Mr. Carson and then said as she turned to go back inside, "Here we go again."

Mr. Carson looks at the bags and seeing the name, smiled to himself. Andy, still confused by the situation and Mrs. Hughes' comments, noticed Mr. Carson's somewhat softened expression and questioned, "Sir?"

Carson was jolted from his own thoughts by Andy's voice. "Well don't just stand there Andrew, get those bags up to the Mercia room at once!"

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

**Chapter 7**

Charles underestimated the distance to Downton. It wasn't the strain of the exercise – that didn't bother him – but it left him too long to over think the situation. He was relieved when the ruins on the edge of Downton finally became visible.

Just in front of a nearby tree, Charles noticed a small, blond-haired boy running around, kicking a ball. The boy's nanny, sat under the tree, and looked extremely worn out.

The ball George had been kicking, suddenly landed right in front of Charles. He stooped to pick up the ball and when he rose, he saw George charging toward him, full steam ahead carrying a small, extremely worn stuffed animal, that if Charles had to guess, was a pig.

"Well hello! Hell of a kick young man. Is that Arthur Charlesworth, or young George Crawley?" Charles called out to him while twirling the ball on his index finger.

George laughed and asked if Charles played. "Would you play with me now?"

"I would! Should we run from Nanny?" Charles enjoyed making the boy laugh. "Say, is that a pig you've got there in your hand?" Charles laughed to himself, "I happen to know a good story about pigs – I'll tell you about it if you beat me!" With that George nodded and Charles punted the ball out into the field and the two of them charged after it.

The two played for quite a while, much to Nanny's relief – she could use a break! Finally, after many minutes of George's giggling, and Charles' chuckles, George made a triumphant kick that sent the ball flying through Charles' legs. George cheered while Charles feigned defeat as he fell to his knees.

George ran over and stood hovering over Charles and said, "You're Mr. Blake aren't you? You're just how they described you."

Charles smiled at the comment and asked, "They? What do they say about me?"

"Grandfather says you're bold and unconventional." Charles chuckled at that.

"And cousin Rose says you like to laugh and that you get into a lot of trouble." Charles continues to laugh at that.

"And Mama says you are naughty, and a bad influence, and … very, very much fun! But mostly she talks about missing you." This stopped Charles' laugh.

He turned to squarely face George and said, "Well. I'm back now! Say, where is your Mama?"

"I haven't seen her all day – she's been in a boring meeting in the house." George pouted.

"Well what do you say, shall we go see her?"

George cheered as Charles rose to his feet and began heading toward the house. Charles was stopped almost immediately by a tug on his coat jacket. Charles turned and saw George looking around as if to make sure no one was around. He beckoned Charles to lean forward, and whispered in his ear, "You should just tell her, she'll say it back."

Charles was stunned silent – this little boy was certainly wise beyond his few years. But was he in earnest? Looking into his clear blue eyes, Charles suspected that he was.

"You know, I didn't exactly ask about your mother's feelings," Charles replied in the face of George's cheeky smiles.

"I know," George shouted over his shoulder as he started running toward the house. Charles picked up the stuffed animal pig that George dropped, smiled to himself, and headed off after the little boy.

Unbeknownst to Charles and George, Mary spotted them from the window of the drawing room where she was currently in the midst of a conversation with Pearson, the farm manager. She froze instantly – she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat.

**Chapter 8**

Carson met the pair as they approached the front door. "Master George," Carson said with an affectionate nod. George's giggling response to Carson's affectionate tone was cut short by a decidedly less affectionate, "_Master George!_" Charles lifted a now wriggling George off from his shoulders and the little boy blazed past Carson and into the house, followed by a rather exasperated looking nanny.

"Why, hello there Carson, how are things at Downton?"

"Very well, sir. I trust you are aware that there is a landowners' conference currently being conducted and that Lady Mary will not be available until they have finished for the day?"

"Of course. I understand completely. Her work is very important. And valuable," Charles paused for a moment and continued, "She certainly is an impressive woman, Carson."

"Indeed, sir, I have always thought so," Carson's reply was accompanied with a very knowing glance at Charles.

After learning that the conference would recess for the day in half an hour, Charles wasn't sure he could wait around the house for her. He felt on pins and needles – despite his own best intentions to calm his nerves. Charles instead turned to walk back outside around the grounds.

"Ah, Mr. Blake." Carson's call stopped Charles from his present trajectory. Charles turned and saw Carson approaching. Tentatively he said, "May I speak freely?" To which Charles, albeit nervous at what would follow, told him that of course he may.

"It has, no doubt, been a … trying 7 months, for all concerned. A swift resolution would perhaps be the best course of action. I will not insult your intelligence by deconstructing my meaning."

Carson's words catch Charles off-guard, yet again, and he remained silent. After a few moments of reassuring himself as to Carson's meaning, Charles smiled, and held out his hand to shake Carson's. It was then Carson's turn to be caught off-guard by the gesture.

With hands still clutched, Carson added, "One more thing sir, if I may, may I suggest a blue tie? This burgundy will never do."

Charles pulls at his tie so as to have a look at the thing. Nodding at the truth of Carson's sartorial recommendation, he replied, "You know Carson, I didn't exactly ask for fashion advice."

"I know sir, but it is my position to provide help when it is needed."

**Chapter 9**

Charles, now in blue tie (thank God he had packed one, he thought), had been strolling the grounds for what felt like ages. He had not really been paying attention to where his feet were taking him, his mind instead on other things. However, his head snapped up to look forward when his foot landed in a rather mucky slick of mud. As his eyes came back into focus from the recesses of his mind, he found himself staring at a familiar sight.

He counted 17 pigs routing around in the trough, 6 standing on the opposite side of the pen, and 4 piglets charging out of the barn toward the rest of the group. Charles leaned over the railing of the pen and suddenly his mind was overcome with different, although vastly related, thoughts. Mary. Harsh words. Mud. Determination. A smile. Scrambled eggs. Mary.

Mary. It was only then that he remembered her letter. Charles fished for the pieces of paper in his coat pocket as he continued to lean by the rail. He unfolded the letter and read, "Dear Charles."

"I should have known you'd choose to see the pigs before me." Mary's sassy remark froze Charles instantly. He turned to see Mary marching toward him – that same smile and sparkling eyes he had just recalled in his memory of the pig rescue.

"Well can you blame me? They did take a liking to me faster than you." Charles dished right back, as he pushed off the pen railing and walked to meet Mary. He reached out for her, placing one hand on her shoulder – as was proper – and the other on her hip – more risqué than he should have been – and kissed her cheek. If he regretted his bold move, he quickly pushed that notion aside when Mary – acting quite boldly as well – reached up to touch his cheek.

With their hands still resting in their somewhat daring positions, Mary scanned Charles' face as she said, "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too, I'm not sure the life of a diplomat would suit me permanently," he replied. "I hear you're quite the success here, with this conference. Well done, Mary, I know how much Downton means to you."

Mary smiled, almost bashfully, as she finally removed her hand from Charles cheek. But she quickly resumed her armor as she motioned for them to continue walking toward the pen. "Did you by chance, read my last letter? I'm not sure if it reached you before you would have left Warsaw."

Charles remembers the unread letter, left slightly crumpled after the number of times he had had to shove it in his pocket after each interruption. He felt regretful that he has not had time to read it and worried that Mary would be disappointed. "You know it's the damndest thing, Mary," Charles began to say.

Mary noticed the envelop peeking from the top of Charles' coat pocket. She reached for it. "Mmhmm, I should have known – well, I'll just have it back then since you were not interested."

Charles made an attempt to snatch the letter back from Mary's hand only to have his hand swatted away. Immediately Mary and Charles began to wrangle for the letter:

"I kept getting interrupted…"

"It's fine, there was nothing news worthy in it anyway…"

"Mary, let me have it, I want to read it…"

"No, just let it go…"

"Why won't you let me see it?"

Just as the words left Charles' mouth, and with both he and Mary struggling over physical possession of the letter, they both slipped on the wet, cold earth and landed in a rather large mud puddle. Mud covered both Mary and Charles, as the object of their tussle – the letter – flew under the railed fence and was lost in the mud.

Charles immediately began to laugh. On the other hand, Mary attempted to sustain her angry façade. But for Charles' infectious laugh, she would have maintained that façade too. Instead, both she and he share laugh at each other's expense.

Charles threw a handful of mud in Mary's direction, missing her narrowly. Mary then reached for her own handful of slop and, as she rose to her feet, tossed the mud at Charles. She did not miss her target.

Charles wiped the mud from his forehead as he rose to his feet. As he arrived a few feet in front of Mary he stated, "Let's call a truce then, shall we?" and extended his hand – an attempt to shake on their deal.

Mary paused for a moment, and said, "I have a better idea." In three gliding steps, she closed the gap between them and Mary's lips crashed into Charles'. Although surprised, he wasted no time in responding. Finally, Charles backed away slightly so he could observe her whole face as he gently brushed away a splattering of mud from Mary's cheek.

Simultaneously, they each began to speak. After a few rounds of "No you go ahead," Charles took the initiative – he could not let this moment pass by, he told himself.

"Fine, I'll go then. Mary," He paused, as if to garner up the courage, and then confidently told her, "Mary, I love you." As the words left his lips, a sense of calm and joy overcame him. How easy, how natural it felt to tell her, he thought.

He looked at Mary, trying to make out her expression. She frowned and backed away from Charles and his heart sunk. A hot rush of dread flew to his head. Then she spoke.

"That is _just _the sort of thing you would go and do, isn't it? I know you did not read my letter, but you just had to be the one to say it first, didn't you? Oooh, Charles Blake, you infuriate me!" Mary ranted.

"Wait!" Charles exclaimed as he reached for her waist in an attempt to halt her flight. "_That _was what was in the letter?" The sinking feeling had gone. He felt as if he could fly. Charles pulled Mary to him and kissed her again and again.

It was Mary this time who pulled away first. "Say it again," she asked coyly as she reached up ran her fingers through Charles' hair.

"You say it first this time," he replied, as he pulled her closer.

"I love you Charles." Mary beamed at him.

He reached for her hand in an attempt to kiss it, but sees that it is caked in mud. He laughed and kissed it anyway. Still chuckling he said, "Why is it always mud with you, Mary?"

"You know," Mary retorted in her feigned stern tone, as she turned to leave, toward the path leading back to Downton, "I didn't exactly ask to be pushed in the mud, Charles!"

"Oh no?" Charles called after her as he picked up his pace to meet her, "Wasn't it you who said, 'it's always nice to leave something for another time'?"

AN: Sorry if the tense switched throughout this story – I wrote it in chunks and stages, and that may have messed with the grammar. Additionally, Arthur Charlesworth (mentioned when Charles is talking to George), according to Wikipedia, played for York City in 1923-1924. I don't know a whole lot about English football, so that was a total shot in the dark.


End file.
